


something has to change

by Fxckxxp



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: ....i mean, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Emotional Sex, First Time, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, One Night Stands, don't let these shit tags deter you i'm pretty proud of this one, kind of, kind of?, nico 'i never wanted to suck a dick so bad in my life' fares, rated E because i say dick ONCE, they're both older and marti's been around, you KNOW what's going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fxckxxp/pseuds/Fxckxxp
Summary: In just one night, Martino meets Niccolò for the first time on gay street, takes him home, and maybe, possibly (probably) falls in love.
Relationships: Niccolò Fares/Martino Rametta
Comments: 29
Kudos: 129





	something has to change

**Author's Note:**

> happy valentine's day here's a one night stand au LOL.
> 
> if you didn't read the tags, essentially this is a short au where marti and nico are a bit older, marti's been around the block a few times, and they meet for the first time on gay street and go home together.
> 
> title is from the song "something has to change" by the japanese house, which i listened to on repeat writing this. enjoy! ✌️

Nico is cute. He’s little and springy with wide eyes and curly hair and a smile so bright the first word that pops into Martino’s head when he sees it is _sunshine._ He notices him right away across the crowd, talking to someone he immediately wishes was him. It's granted eventually. Marti manages to get his attention with a drink. Not the most clever, but the quickest.

Nico speaks fast and with so much passion and poise attached to everything he talks about that Marti doesn’t really know where to put the energy he’s feeling. Usually, he can pinpoint it, delegate a task to it. It’s not hard; he comes to gay street these days with one goal in mind.

But Nico is easy to talk to. Swinging from jokes to wisdom and back again so fast it gives Marti whiplash. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, settling for the former because he loves to watch Nico’s lips purse proudly. They’re dark from red wine, and Marti wants to kiss him. He knows his eyes flutter down to watch Nico’s mouth move over half-slurred words, pulling them back up when the ringing in his ears fades in from the sides. 

More than that, Marti wants to take him home. 

There’s a blurry flash — just half a thought — in the back of Marti’s mind of both of them, sleepy and boneless and tangled up under a blanket with the box fan in Marti’s window whirring on high. Tonight. Tomorrow night. A night somewhere a year from now.

That’s how he knows he’s fucked. Marti prides himself on being a person who lives in the moment. In the _minute._ Pipe dreams about guys — love and understanding and affection and intimacy — are exactly that. Pipe dreams. He doesn’t let himself imagine the _afterward_ because usually everyone just wants to go home. And he ends up disappointed.

Maybe he’s just been burned one too many times — his heart keeps breaking in that same, specific place. So he took love out of the equation a while ago. 

Something, though, about sitting here with Nico — it feels inevitable. There’s a pull. And a hope. He chalks it up to the alcohol, but there’s a voice, too, muted and deadpan in his ear screaming: _this is different — you’re barely tipsy at best, idiot._

They’re sitting on the ledge across from the bar at the edge of gay street. Their empty drinks, which have been empty for a while now, sit by their sides on the concrete so their hands can swat each other’s shoulders when they laugh. Press their knuckles into chests in suspense. Rest on thighs. Marti’s stomach did some embarrassing, bumbling acrobatics when he watched Nico’s ears turn red at the simple act, stuttering through a sentence with a smile. 

In fact, Marti is so sure they’re going to go home together he takes the matter into his own hands, something he rarely does.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He feels bad for cutting Nico off in the middle of his sentence, but to be honest he was about fifty percent listening and fifty percent already halfway through a daydream of what, exactly, taking Nico home would entail.

Nico’s mouth gapes. Then closes. Then opens again. All the while his eyes buzzing across Marti’s face. He gulps, smiles devilishly — the tip of his tongue between his teeth — and nods. 

Something molten fuses itself to Marti’s lower stomach at the reality of it all. He takes him by the hand, almost skipping up, having to force himself to let go once they’ve left the street.

Their banter on the bus is no less special, and Marti can only wait so long until they get into the elevator of his apartment building before kissing Nico.

He blames the jolt of the old thing going up — the g-forces, the tilt of nausea — for the way his stomach boils when their lips connect. 

He blames the stretch of time between this and, well, the last time he’s done _this_ too. Anything to push back that voice getting louder, saying _it’s different — it’s not the drinks, the elevator, your dry streak_ now.

Nico kisses him back so softly and so honest and _surprised_ Marti doesn’t know what to do with it. A rough palm with calloused fingertips finds his cheekbone. An awed gasp drifts into his mouth when their lips part.

Marti doesn’t bother to check if anyone is in the landing or the hallway. He kisses Nico, backing up, all the way to his door and pins him to it. Doesn’t even take a break to rummage for his keys somewhere in the back pocket of his jeans.

Inside, door kicked shut behind them, they make it as far as the couch. Which is roughly four backward steps away. Nico sits. Marti next to him. Their calves tangling and a knee somewhere between Marti’s thighs. Hands pulling through hair, smoothing over cheekbones, thumbs pressed into the divots of necks.

They kiss for so long Marti’s lips start to feel raw. Lots of tongue. Hungry. No finesse but all the fervor. Nico isn’t afraid to exhale sharply, to hum a tiny moan when Marti bites his lip. But then he turns around and does that thing like he did in the elevator. Goes soft. Kisses Marti gently and tender with so much warmth it seems to make Marti hotter than when the kiss was textbook hot.

If he thinks about it — which is currently hard to do — Marti doesn’t remember kissing anyone for this long. Not even when he had a boyfriend. But Nico doesn’t move to touch Marti anywhere south of his shoulders, going almost pliant when Marti dares to put a hand back on his thigh, smoothing up dangerously high and resting on the soft inside of it.

Nico slows down the kiss so much it stops. He pulls away but keeps their foreheads together, breathing hard.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admits. “Go home with someone I just met.” His voice is winded, low, gruff but also innocent.

There’s a long pause Marti would fill with a reassuring kiss if he wasn’t so sure Nico wasn’t finished yet.

He swallows. “Or. Have sex with another guy.”

Marti pulls back, the hand on Nico’s thigh sliding down to his knee. Nico is looking straight at him, worrying his red bottom lip between his teeth. His hair sticking up every which way.

(Another thought hits Marti: he doesn’t ever remember kissing anyone so pretty.)

“Oh,” Marti breathes, voice tipping up and sounding more surprised than he meant to. The blood in his body readjusts itself to keep his brain functioning enough to process it. Which he doesn’t think he’s fully done yet. At least not the weight of it, or the weight Nico seems to be assigning to it.

“I just thought you should know,” Nico confesses slowly. “Because I’m sure that’s. A lot. And I can go if it seems like too much… liability.”

Marti chuckles at his word choice, which apparently wasn’t the reaction Nico expected given his eyebrows shooting up.

“It is… a lot,” Marti agrees, thinking about it. He wants to add _for you_ but stops himself. Positive that Nico is thinking the opposite and unsure of how to bring that up without spooking him.

Marti revisits a memory that’s neither good nor bad. He just wishes maybe he were older, or less eager to get it over with, or that maybe he was in love when it happened. He never needed candles or rose petals or mood-setting music, but it's nice to be worthy of more than a living room couch. He can at least give Nico that.

Marti smiles to himself. “Come on.” He stands, decisively taking both of Nico’s hands and pulling him up. “Let’s go to my bed.”

Nico goes willingly with a shy, lopsided smile Marti surged to kiss before it disappeared.

He looks better than Marti imagined with no shirt on. He’s lost his own as well somewhere along the way. Taking them off of each other. Feels better, too — his smooth skin and the compact muscle underneath it. The couch to the bed is a blur of messy kissing and finally fearless hands. Nico’s, smoothing down Marti’s lower back to grab his butt, releases a sound from Marti he doesn’t think he’s ever made in his life. It makes Nico laugh, the pride in it obvious and victorious and confident enough to let him do it again.

Now that what’s happening is clear, Marti’s brain has never been so foggy. There are only lips and breathing and blood coursing through him so roaring and pulsed he’s worried there’s too much of it. Only Nico under him, tumbling into bed and letting out a tiny whimper and a whispered _this is so hot_ — almost more to himself than anything — when Marti dares to lower his hips and grind into him.

The unpolished honesty makes Marti smile. How rare and lovely it is to get something you’ve always wanted and to have it be good.

That molten thing, still glued inside his stomach, ignites with honor. That he has a hand in giving that to someone else. To Nico.

“Can I take your pants off?” Marti asks. As wonderful as this all is, the build-up has made him impatient.

Nico nods, breathes a second affirmation: a _yes_ over Marti’s lips that might just be the hottest thing yet. Marti makes quick work of the button, the zipper, throwing Nico’s pants somewhere in the corner of his room once he’s lifted his hips and pared them off.

He touches Nico first outside of his underwear, and they both muffle a whine at the feeling.

“These too?” Marti runs two fingers into the elastic of the waistband and tugs gently at the side.

Nico takes them off himself as a response, breaking their kiss to do so. When he flops back down on the bed, messy hair on Marti’s pillow, there’s something contradictory shining in his eyes Marti didn’t quite expect. Conviction and disbelief. Not to be confused with fear. But not so sure of it all that his confidence is unwavering.

Marti looks him over — all the skin, his lithe legs and those muscles by his hips worth drooling over. Lower, too — seeing him turned on makes Marti’s insides contract. He puts his palm on Nico’s stomach, his abs softening, smoothing down to below his belly button. “Is this okay?”

“Please,” Nico sighs, his voice throaty and rougher now than Marti has heard before. It’s not a direct answer, but an answer all the same.

Marti removes his hand to lick his palm with a quirk of his eyebrow, and that makes Nico laugh. 

He files away, somewhere in the back of his brain for later, the transition between that laugh and the moan Nico lets out when Marti brings his hand down to touch him.

Nico squirms, hips dipping down into the mattress to try and involuntarily extend the feeling. “Your hand is so _big —”_

Marti likes how surprised he sounds. Some unfiltered thought brings Nico’s words back from earlier: _I’ve never done this before ... Have sex with another guy._ Taking that to mean he’s not unwise to sex itself and equal parts hoping the differences with Marti are enjoyable (the selfish part of his brain would use the word “better”) and reveling in the act of how lucky it feels to be together like this. The dichotomy of their experiences dissolving in a kiss.

“I could go down on you,” Marti offers, slowing his hand. To say he wants to is an understatement.

“You should probably stop,” Nico breathes. “I don’t want you to make me come when you haven’t even taken your pants off yet. It’s not fair.”

“Fair?” Marti laughs, removing his hand like Nico asked and feeling his stomach swoosh into his ego when Nico exhales all breathy at the loss.

Nico keeps leaning up for kisses, not quite registering that he needs his mouth to talk, too. “Fair for me. I want to see you naked.”

“I won’t argue,” Marti chuckles, having his hands swatted away by Nico when he tries to undo his own button.

Nico takes his time. He pulls Marti on top of him, kissing him with lots of tongue and excitedly running his hands over his hips, the tops of his thighs, the hardness between Marti’s legs. He thinks he hears Nico whisper _Jesus_ when he feels him, and which seems to be the spur that pushes Nico to undo his button, pull down the zipper.

Marti is simply on fire, willing himself to be patient and praying that the build-up won’t cause him to erupt at the first, slightest touch.

“I’ve obviously never done this,” Nico discloses, scooting down with Marti still on top of him to kiss his neck. “So you have to tell me if I suck and what to do to make it better. Turn over.”

In a surprise of tenacity and strength, Marti feels himself get flipped around on the mattress, his head replacing Nico’s on the pillow and his pants being tugged down below his hips. Not until they’re gone does Marti’s head catch up to what’s happening.

And only for a moment, because things get very fuzzy very fast when Nico’s hand is pushing apart his legs — and his lips, trailing down his middle in soft kisses, are around him. Those same lips Marti couldn’t stop staring at earlier. Red from wine and kissing.

Marti is so turned on that he can’t even register if it’s good or bad. Didn’t even have time to protest, to make sure Nico wants to and didn’t feel obligated. All he does is feel every nerve electrocute at the warmth, the wetness, the pressure.

He thinks, though, that the sound Nico makes when he first takes Marti in his mouth is a pretty good indicator of, frankly, how much he wants to.

Marti smiles, a very soft laugh escaping him. His hand finds Nico’s hair and grabs it by the root between twisted fingers. He’s eager and enthusiastic.

“You can slow down a little bit,” Marti guides him, making sure to not hold back a loud, choked exhale of affirmation when he does. He thinks he feels more than he hears a pleased hum from Nico at it.

Who pops off after a few minutes, his hand coming up to find Marti’s dick and slowly touch him while he cuddles into the crease where his hip meets his thigh to breathe.

He kisses it before speaking. “Is it okay?”

His hand, slow and wet on Marti, is driving him crazy. “Better,” Marti manages. “Better than okay. Good — it’s really good. You can keep your hand there, if you — _Oh —”_

Nico puts his mouth on him again before Marti can round out any sort of thought, excited at the suggestion and holding his hand in place to extend the sensation of his lips. Marti hooks his leg over his shoulder, trying to do anything to bring the feeling closer to him.

“Okay — you should — because I’m getting —”

Nico stops, looking at Marti with wide eyes almost like he forgot this part was coming.

“Kiss me,” Marti says, sounding like a question.

Nico smiles at the idea, crawling up to do just that. Keeping his grip slow and kissing Marti open — with that same softness from before — smirking into it proudly when Marti comes in his hand abruptly at the combination of it all; that softness, the way Nico tastes like a mixture of them, a thought from before that won’t leave him alone.

He thinks his hips arch up off the bed a little. But Nico keeps him pressed down, removing himself to hold Marti’s face in his clean palm, straddling one of his thighs. Kissing him gently and swallowing all of his half-silent cries until he melts into the mattress and comes down.

Only when he starts to feel those distant corners of himself come back again — damp fringe against his forehead, fingers curled into the bedsheets, abdomen unclenching — he registers that Nico, on top of him, is still hard against his thigh. Moving his kisses from Marti’s slack mouth to his jaw, his neck. Feather-light and honey-sweet.

Marti returns the favor happily — flipping Nico over and wasting no time on teasing him. He basks in all the sounds he makes, in all the half-formed sentences he exhales — his favorite right when he started: “You’re so _good_ at this — what… the…” that was inevitably swallowed by a gasped moan when Marti took him all the way in, hitting the back of his throat.

Nico warns him when he’s close in the same manner Marti did, but Marti wants him to come in his mouth. To be connected to every second of it and feel every tremor of his shaky thighs against his cheek, every large inhale of his lower stomach against his temple. Wants it to feel as good as possible, too, almost worried that Nico flatlined when he came and Marti didn’t slow anything down.

That voice returns when he’s done, saying the same as always. _This is different._ Marti doesn’t want to feed it any hope, but he doesn’t have the strength in the afterglow to shut it up either.

 _This is different,_ it repeats when he lifts his chin to look at Nico’s wrecked, beaming, sex-drunk face. His own hand running through his tangled hair, the other smoothing down Marti’s cheek.

 _This is different,_ it repeats when Marti crawls up to him and is dragged the rest of the way into a kiss.

 _This is different,_ it repeats when that molten thing in his stomach melts up around his heart as Nico takes him in his arms, pulls him against his chest.

They part, limbs still tangled, heads on the same pillow. Marti notices that Nico’s silent. But smiling. His eyes are closed, his pointy features a silhouette in Marti’s dark room. Marti can’t quite tell if he’s peaceful or reflective, remembering it’s possible to be both.

“Everything good?” Marti checks, his hand coming up to smooth a knuckle over Nico’s cheek.

He nods, a faint and pleased _mhmm_ escaping closed lips. “Very good.” His arm around the back of Marti’s shoulders tightens.

“Good,” Marti repeats, his voice cracking as he clears his throat. “I’m glad it didn’t, like, send you running away screaming.”

There are two meanings to that. But the truer one is disguised behind the fact that it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing for Nico, who’s just had sex with another guy for the first time, to go sprinting away in what Marti can only guess would be confusion or guilt or shame. That wouldn't be new to Marti.

Nico picks up what he’s saying quickly, chuckling. “I’ve always known. That I’ve been into guys, I mean. I could have gone the rest of my life never _testing it out,”_ he emphasizes, bringing his free hand away from Marti up to air quote it, “and I’d still have never doubted. But hey —” he turns his head to look at Marti. His eyes brighter than the rest of him. “Can I say something kind of cheesy? Something people probably don’t say after… something like this?”

“Yes,” Marti laughs, masking the _please_ that almost falls out after it.

“You’re really nice. And I feel like this could have gone a lot of ways. So, I’m glad it was with you.”

Marti feels something like an unexpected, preemptive sob tighten in his jaw and chin, working its way down his throat to meet that lava around his heart.

“Thank you,” Marti answers honestly, it feeling like both the wrong and the right thing to say.

Nico laughs a little, looking at the ceiling which makes Marti think it’s at himself. “I’m not… sure how this goes now. Do I leave? Is there a round two?”

“There can be a round two,” Marti laughs, cuddling in to kiss Nico’s neck.

He suggests it simply because he wants Nico to stay, feeling it’s a good scapegoat to extend their time together without scaring him away with how desperate he knows saying he _wants_ him to stay might sound. In truth, Marti is a bit tired. His heart, which hasn’t calmed down, wants the two of them to remain right where they are through the night.

Marti lets himself finish that half-thought from earlier. Sleepy and boneless and tangled up under a blanket with the box fan in his window on high. Tonight, because he won’t hope for tomorrow before that. He’s so close it hurts to know he’s almost there.

Nico seems to read his mind. “I’m kind of sleepy, to be honest.”

“I am too,” he mumbles into Nico’s throat, feeling it swallow against his lips. “You can stay and sleep here. If you want.”

There’s a long pause where Nico buries his nose in Marti’s hair, inhaling slowly. “I don’t want to be a bother —”

“I want you to,” Marti blurts, his desperation be damned. “I want you to stay. If you want to stay.”

“Yeah?” Nico whispers it into his curls.

Marti nods, tipping his chin up to bump their noses together. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Nico repeats, giggling this time.

“Yeah.” Swallowed by a kiss. A smile.

 _This is different._ It comes, this time, not from the voice in Marti’s head, but the one in his heart.

And he believes it.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [tumblr!](https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com/)


End file.
